


A Quill Made Of Dreams

by shadelessxroyalty



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadelessxroyalty/pseuds/shadelessxroyalty
Summary: The world of writing is never easy, especially when it's the outlet that makes the world as bearable as you can make it. It's hard to imagine this world, which is so used to making people live life alone, allowing many joys. But then, how can this be true, when such a contradicting pair exist? Author AU
Relationships: Jester Lavorre & Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre & Marion Lavorre | Ruby of the Sea, Jester Lavorre & The Traveler, Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast, Nott | Veth Brenatto & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. The Paper

Pages turn in a well-made book, inside a building that reads “Nott and Brave”. The lights remain as they are, dimmed for added dramatic effect. If you were an author, if you were an editor, you could say you could practically hear the gears turning. And there, in a seat that looks like it should’ve been too big for her, with the faint smell of something like liquor wafting through the air, Nott the Brave begins her work for the day. Considering her earlier conversation, it would be insulting for Nott to pick anyone but these two for this project. 

Knowing her friends, it was only logical to converse with the bright and eccentric tiefling on the matter first. It is with this resolve that Nott begins her email to Jester Lavorre, one of her most renowned authors. There was the feeling of reminiscence as she typed, the sound of a clacking keyboard fading away to give room to memories both new and old. Jester was and continues to be the brightest face in the night, in the day... damn well anywhere. 

It was no surprise that this joy found its way into Jester’s writing. That what little sadness or angst there was in the story was replaced with a great joy. Critics complained about this, outright calling Jester childish for making some sort of joke of a book. Nott called them all fucking idiots. Because they were, and because the ratings said otherwise. Jester never showed a wavering thought to them. Nonetheless, Nott felt she was responsible for making sure Jester never would. It’s these qualities and these exact capabilities that made her so perfect for this project. She just hoped Caleb would not be as offended by this as she feared. Hope for the best, expect the worst, as they say. 

With a final click, Nott releases a great sigh, and slumps in her leather chair. Now it was time for the difficult one. Having already spent near an hour on one email, Nott could feel she was doomed to rot in this overly priced chair. It’s when she actually starts writing this email to Caleb Widogast that she feels shame for spending an extra hour wondering exactly how she would build the letter. Words came to her easier than her ability to drink, and she became lost too, in these memories both shared and not… with this man named Caleb.

It was easy to see some depth of despair behind his eyes. To see him making little attempt to bring color back to eyes that might never see joy again. There was a kinship in this despair, that drew her closer. And it was this kinship that made her want to protect him. Caleb was a powerful man, but more than anything, he was a sad one. He was a poet at heart, and he proclaimed his heart long dead. Nott always wondered what he meant, but at the same time, she always knew. Of course, she didn’t always believe him. After all, how dead could her own heart have been to fall in love with Yeza every single day? 

And it’s in this manner too, that his writing comes to reflect his heart. His mind. It’s perfect, in many ways. There are no grammar mistakes, the mood fits exactly what he was going for. But Nott cannot help but cry sometimes, when she reads the words he puts to reality. Because she was lucky to find Yeza. But many will not be. They won’t have Yeza, they won’t have Jester. They will not have these things that bring them joy. For them, this bleakness is all that is there. It is all they might ever know. It is this writing that is criticized heavily, demanding even a sliver of joy in this book that starts and ends in misfortune. In this novel that demands your attention, that demands your emotional attachment, that demands it all so it may more realistically crush it. This bleak reality that only sees shades of grey and black, Nott knows, is the world Caleb sees. And most likely is the world Caleb lives in.

Nott drags herself out of memory lane in time to send this email. She lets out a breath of relief when all is said and done, and demands her body allow her another large swig from her flask. The day is half done, as far as she’s concerned, and she has yet to do anything but write emails. Nott would feel guiltier if this wasn’t her job. Nonetheless, lunch demands her attention. As she quickly hops out of this chair that is far too tall for her, she retires to the coffee shop across the street. Her phone, always tucked snugly in her purse, is brought with her. It’s this bolt of energy mixed with a secret liquor that makes the day much more bearable. The sound of the keyboard from various workers are background noise to her. 

Nott and Brave. A name she never expected to use, for a company she never expected to have. Where she got the feeble name eludes even her, though she’s certain there’s a far-off reason. Whatever it was, she doesn’t mind. It’s popular nonetheless. Nonetheless, nonetheless. It takes only a few minutes after she’s finished her drink for her phone to play “I didn’t start the fire”. Her nose scrunches, as though someone just farted really loud and won’t admit it.

She takes the phone in her hand, answering in a swift motion that belies the notion that she is nothing more than an editor, than a publisher.

“Heyyyy Lebby.” Her voice grates in this soothing manner, her eyes wandering to many areas as she is made to talk without the permission to view them. Her fingers make a light thrum against expensive plastic, “So I’m guessing you have a few questions about the, ah, the email I sent, right?” 

She can hear something on the other side, an equal thrum of fingers against a hard surface. This, she knows, is one of his many nervous tics, something she herself has. It was something that just helped keep them calm. Keep their hands busy, at the very least, “I ah. Yes, I did.” She hears a cough on his side, clearing his throat no doubt, “I don't like to... To mince words very often Nott, as you know. We have known each other for... For quite a while, ja? And while I don't, while I don't necessarily understand your ways, I do realize it is, ah, coming from a place of well... good intentions. But I do not... How do I say this, I am far too curious...? About this decision."

"I know, I know. You probably think I'm crazy for pairing you two." She can hear the sound of breath leave Caleb before she speaks again, "Well, not crazy. But I think it would do you good to be with someone like that. To be honest, I think it'd do her some good too! I mean- if you meet her, I think you'll understand exactly what I'm talking about Caleb." But maybe you won't, she thought quietly. That wasn't a bad thing though.

There's a bit of silence, before Nott speaks up again, "I- I mean, I've worked with her before. I proofread all her novels and have coffee with her biweekly so I have some idea of what she's like, but- Caleb she's kind of an enigma. I mean- I want you two to meet, and obviously it would be great if you could work on this project together, but I mean- well. I mean... Well- you'll know."

There’s a silence on both ends. Seconds pass that feel much longer. Despite her best intentions, if Caleb does not want this, as his friend she cannot force this. She only hopes this won't bite her in the ass. She hears a sigh as she takes a sip of her lukewarm coffee. “Alright. I’ll do it.”


	2. The Sun And The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you compare the sun and the moon, surely they are equally beautiful, no? And yet, it is so painful to look at the Sun.

When the sun rises, there is no reason to applaud it. What it does is expected. The world will not gasp at such a benevolent sight. Still, the sun must rise. And in that same breadth, so too, must Caleb. So too, will he do what he must. It is expected. There is no reason to this, the meaningless words which yield for none, nor the equally meaningless man who writes these words. Yet, he writes. One said that a love can drive you mad. It will demand nothing, instead waiting patiently for you to succumb. It is this madness that drives him to write. It is this insanity that he has allowed himself to become lost in. And yet, still, he is willing. He thinks to himself, perhaps this is the only pure love one can have.

While he was a broken man, his father was a vet. An honorable man by nature, and faithful to a fault. His father was abrupt with his words. While he seemed to give thought to his words, he would often spend more time allowing his beliefs to become verbal. Caleb, on the other hand, was the kind of man to think, rather than speak. It was an easy task to kill, but it is difficult to remove proof of its existence. In the same breadth, it is much more difficult to speak than it is to keep it in one’s mind forever. 

Caleb does not mind this, he will say. Even as he is drudging through his newest project, a sudden lack of interest in something that brought him a great joy just the day before. Even as he retrieves his favorite book, now worn out by its constant use. He will tell himself he does not need to speak these thoughts. He will tell himself that it is all a fruitless expenditure anyway. That one day, he will return to the dirt, and all words he spoke or did not speak will have held no meaning.

He is startled easily, has been for quite some time, he will ruefully admit. It is this trait that makes itself known, when he receives an unplanned notification. He spends the next few moments scanning this new email. From Nott, of course. So, he supposes either business as usual, or absolute panic. Caleb would learn towards absolute panic, as anything Nott needed would be provided through a simple message. He’d worked with her long enough to know when she was ruminating on a subject to lessen the harsh hit he would be receiving. It was a curse to be right, in a world where you are often wrong.

The name Jester catches his attention. He knows little about her, having kept to his own genre of writing quite intently. It was easy to tell, however, her polar opposite personality. Caleb was a simple shell of a man. He could only be mortal, so naturally biases followed through, despite his wishes. He would see her name, and her slight descriptor, and imagine her a deviant. He would imagine her a chaotic entity of which many would not understand. Of course, supposing and imagining did nothing to ease the mind. He required solid answers. Answers that could not be changed so easily. 

He resolves to call Nott, an anxiety barely noticed making its way to the forefront. Nott’s voice is grating, yet soothing. On the other hand, his voice resembles that of a dying rat. He knows he’s being obvious. The slight tremor in his voice that demands attention, the tapping of fingers against a hard surface. He can tell Nott knows, he can tell she’s being patient with him. The conversation continues, and he calms down. Nott’s words are true. Despite how they seem to grow panicked, they are true. And- very kind.

Caleb agrees, despite himself. There is a moment of silence, and a release of a breath. Nott is relieved, he can tell. He is a man of few words, he reminds himself, as he gives a quick goodbye. 

Obviously, there is nothing more to do for the day but to prepare. Mentally, and physically, soldiers will often prepare themselves for the worst. It’s something close to an insult to compare his situation to those who might be dying at this very moment, but he was once a soldier. He felt it only fair to use this comparison.

You could call the day thereafter a disappointment. You’d be wrong, but you can do as you please. Caleb would spend that next morning, remembering neither a word or phrase he practiced the day before. His used car, still stifled with the scent of old food, is aired out upon his journey to the appointed meeting. The laughter he hears is familiar on one term, and unfamiliar in the next. Nott is there, most obviously. The other, most likely this Jester person he heard of.

She shines, though many people in his life have shined. Nott, next to her, shines brighter than the flask she keeps in her pocket. As he walks up, Nott is cut off, and he sees her motioning him towards them.

“Oh- oh! Jester, this is Caleb.” The look on Nott’s face is akin to that of a child opening a Christmas present, though Caleb’s can be described more like the child that has to pretend they’ve received a good gift. She turns to Caleb, as though presenting the one cure to all problems, “Like I said, he’s really smart and you’re extremely wise, so I bet the project will go off without a single hitch!” 

Her voice raised in that manner, like a child lying, except she wasn’t. Or, she didn’t try to. Caleb coughed awkwardly, and placed his briefcase next to the table. A blue hand raises in time, missing his face by mere inches, “Hi! I’m Jester, it’s so nice to meet you!”

There’s an odd moment, where Caleb will fix his glasses, and expect his mouth to cooperate with his brain. It’s odd, because he’s rarely right. He coughs, too put off by his own anxiety to shake her hand, “Ah- hello. Jester, was it? I’m… I’m sure you, ah, heard. The name is Caleb. I- hm. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The last sentence sounds forced, of course. He wants to be there as much as a fly in a spider’s trap. Of course, he’s made a promise.

He notices Jester awkwardly put her hand away. Rude of him, he realizes, but he can’t do anything about it now. She doesn’t seem too put off by this. But Caleb will know better. She might never let him live this down.


End file.
